Page 12 of Don't Look Back

From the sound, Rand knew the guy was just feet from crossing his path.

Tap. Tap. One more step. And he’d be right in front of Rand.

A cough sounded near the front of the room. The gunman paused.

Rand held his breath. The cough didn’t come from Kira’s direction. There was another person sheltering here.

The gunman changed direction. Moving away from Rand.

Shit.

The cough sounded again.

Maybe Rand could use the distraction to his advantage. He tucked the scissor blade in a pocket to free a hand and used his phone to spy around the file cabinet. The gunman had his back to him. He was turning in a circle, scanning the front of the room, the muzzle of the M4 moving in a slow arc.

Seeing his moment, Rand rose to his full height and chucked the obsidian paperweight at the guy.

His years as a pitcher in Little League and high school paid off. The heavy object smacked the guy in the back of the head. The gunman’s finger pressed the trigger, and he shot wildly into the ceiling.

Rand kicked the chair wheels down the aisle, and the base slammed into the shooter. Already off balance, he stumbled before he could bring the gun around.

Rand launched himself at the fallen man, yanking the gun by the barrel. The hot metal burned his bare skin. He tossed the weapon aside and grabbed the scissor blade.

The gunman was belly down on the floor. He twisted, rolling to the left before Rand could pin him. He swung out, his fist catching Rand in the neck.

Rand replied with his own punch, a more precise blow to the man’s cheek and nose. He finally got him pinned with a knee on his sternum. He pressed the blade to the guy’s throat. “Don’t move, asshole.”

The man wore a camouflage bandanna over the bottom half of his face. His blue eyes were angry. Feral.

“Why are you after Kira?”

No answer.

“Who is Dr. Hanson to you?”

Silence.

Rand needed to update his team. He hoped his phone was still connected. He’d dropped it after throwing the obsidian ball. He shouted to Kira. “Call 9-1-1. Tell them I’ve got the gunman pinned.”

He heard her muffled voice just as the door slammed open and SEALs in battle gear poured into the room. Men from his team—Collins, Kramer, Burns, and Meyers—were the first through the door. Relief swept through him, but he didn’t dare relax his grip on the blade at the man’s throat or ease the weight on his chest.

He hadn’t been able to pat the guy down. For all he knew, he had more weapons tucked away.

The feral eyes grew even wilder as the SEALs approached. Blood pooled beneath his head.

“Who are you?” Rand asked.

The guy bucked upward as the SEALs circled him. More men from other SEAL teams joined the party. At least a dozen armed men filled the aisle and the muzzles of no fewer than five rifles pointed at the man’s face. Slowly, Rand removed the blade from his throat and shifted his weight from the knee on his chest.

He patted him down, finding a pistol and a nasty hunting knife. He passed off the weapons to Collins in exchange for a pair of handcuffs, then rolled the guy onto his stomach to cuff him.

The pool of blood beneath the guy’s head was bigger than he’d expected. Rand studied the cut at the base of the guy’s skull.

The sharp edge of the obsidian paperweight must have landed like an axe blade.

“We need a medic. Now.”

Even as he said the words, the man on the floor started to twitch. He made a gagging sound, and Rand rolled him over again and ripped away the bandanna that covered the lower half of his face.

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